SHEILA ASCROFT

EVA BALDWIN

JUDI BARR

JAMES BOAST

STEVE CLARKE

TERI COBURN

GEORGE ENGLEBRETSEN

SUSAN ENTWISTLE

DAVID EWENS

WARWICK J. FARQUAR III

ROB GORDON

RALPH GUSTAFSON

LESLEY HOGAN

DOUGLAS HOOPER

NONI HOWARD

GRAEME HUNTER

MEREDYTH KEZAR

PETER LIDINGTON

TOM LYTLE

RUSSELL OUGHTRED

RON PEROWNE

RICHARD PRICE

GIL ROSS

FAE ST. JACQUES

JOHN SCOTT

PENNY SMITH

SUE STAPELLS

BILL TOCK

RUTH VIGNEAULT

LITTLE ALBERT GOES TO BISHOP’S

Young Albert, fresh from Lancashire To Lennoxville did come.

Other boys liked college life,So he thought he’d have some.

Bishop’s suited him — he thought,With gowns, an girls, an’ all;

From what he’d heard about the place It wasn’t bad a-t’all!

All coeds here are glamour girls,Some pretty, coy, and meek,

And most are very popular (In Sadie Hawkins week!)

“All rooms,” they said, “are clean and warm, All food delicious, too,

The chapels, labs, and lectures Are far between and few.”

Alas, when Albert learned the truth,The most that he could say

Was: “Bishop’s such a super place?Ay, that will be the day!”

The football coach some men did need,And little pipsqueak All must yield,

For, as a freshman, he must play Or stay, — and line the field!

Albert liked beer, like all the lads;A frothblower was he.

Said All: “We’re doomed to gloom, by gum, If prin has banned the ‘G’!”

First frosty Friday morning About nine-twenty-two,

He shuffled into History class And shivered out with flu.

“Christmas come but once a year”;Albert had heard that rhyme,

It brings exams with much to learn And very little time.

So Albert learned at Bishop’s,To cut four years to three,

One simply must combine one’s fun With work and O.T.C.

From The Mitre, February, 1941.

Bishop's UniversityLENNOXVILLE, QUEBEC

Founded 1843

A Residential University for Men and Women

offering courses in

Arts — Science — Business Administration — Theology — Education

M c G re e r Hall, one of five m en 's residences on the campus.

For Calendars giving information regarding courses, entrance requirements,

fees, etc., write to :

THE REGISTRAR BISHOP’S UNIVERSITY, LENNOXVILLE, QUEBEC

New M itre , 1972

Laurie Gruer

ABSURD TRIOA.

Think of this:Six childrenat playin the backof a junkyard hearse.One childlies prostratefeigning childbirthamong a thousand rose-pinkwildflowers.

B.Look at this:

a black couple on a street, a study in yellow and whiteand navy-blue linen intermittently alive under each new streetlight.Her face is covered with bleaching cream to make him love her more.

C.Imagine this:

The light in a Pentagon corridor fails.A janitor's feels his way

toward the coke machine, presses a button hopefully and ends the world.

2 3

Serving the southshore regions

and Quebec City area . . . .

Champlain' Regional College

N e w M itre, 19724

Anne Thaler

STATUES

Rocks have such comfortable shoulders . . .

Even when reclining.

Rodin's lovers Also know That flowers grow Under snow.

Bishop's U n iv e rsity Alumni Association

NATIONAL COMMITTEE

Honorary President

FRED KAU FM AN , '46

President

s. r . M cM o r r a n , '60

Secretary

D. B. CAM PBELL, '59

Chairman, Annual Fund

G LEN N H IGG IN BO THAM , '64

Executive Secretary

T. L. BELFORD, 71

Representing Class of 7 1

R. H A FFEN D EN , 71

Members-at-large

M A R Y EASTW OOD, '62 BROCK THOMSON, '65A L ISO N ROBB, 70

Branch Presidents

P. R. M ATTH EW S, '63 (Montreal)W W. LYNCH, '55 (Eastern Townships)

R. C R U IK SH A N K , '63 (Toronto)G. T. R A YN ER , '51 (Ottawa)

SA N D Y OSBORNE, '69 (Quebec) PA T R IC K D ALY, '68 (Vancouver)

N ew M itre , 19726

SONNET James Gray

To think one thought a hundred hundred ways, Before indifferent eyes your soul to bare,To drink the bitter dregs of deep despair,

And eat the pounded ash of shattered days.

To feel the end of youth in heart and mind,To die of pain, but swear no pain exists,To know, the more you give, she more resists,

Yet take as law her every wish divined —

When anger fades and faith finds no reward,To love the unresponsive unaware,To build a thousand castles in the air,

To seek but not to touch the hidden chord —

In these, the signs of love, our hope is found,As hope of Spring lies buried in the ground.

(After Ronsard, Les Arrows de Cassandre)

Mimi Leveque

7

Bishop's College School

137th year

A residential school for boys and girls

in the country

For further information write to

BISHOP'S COLLEGE SCHOOL

Lennoxville, Quebec

N ew M itre , 1972

Laurie GruerTHE DROWNING

A M E M O I R

Yesterday I saw him at play in the schoolyard, his thin, white legs waving out of baggy gym shorts, his arms a study in action, his white youngness there in motion, in yelling, in a delightful laugh. I saw his winter-pale back bared to taste the sun of mid-June, his blond hair, thick and straight, catching and throwing off slivers of sunlight. For some reason, I watched him intently. In hindsight, I wonder why I was so fascinated for I have often seen him playingjumping and dancing at dodgeball, chasing a friend, studying the mechanics of bouncing a ball. Once, when the dismissal bell had rung and he lingered with a few friends, I crossed the fence and joined them at “champ" — we were the remnants of some screaming, teeming recess. I tickled him playfully, my twenty-year old fingers hard against his eleven-year old ribs.

With his new bicycle he was alive, criss-crossed by chartreuse and silver bars, indicated by twinkling spokes from two directions. His arms high to hold the handlebars that soared above his shoulders, he was almost in flight, pedalling along the blue of the air, laughing into the wind.

Yet I wonder if he didn’t always seem doomed, marked, for some tragic, regretful end. His eyes were-what? — sad apprehensive, intelligent. If they knew at all, did they or any part of him know yesterday that by early evening he would be dead?

I have seen him stand, watchful, for a moment before joining his friends at play. They would shout: Kenny, come be on our team. But he always waited. He took stock. He counted the minutes left.

This morning in a roaring, headfilling moment, I was told that Kenny and a friend had drowned last night behind the Presbyterian Church. The news has left me with a tenacious emptiness, a mind full of nothing but Kenny. I thought first of him at the river with his friends, dumbly innocent, unaware of endings, or of life or of breathing, peeling off his shirt as the others did, wading in. giggling as he tried to catch up to them after his moment of thought.

Mostly I have thought of him at that first moment when he realized the river had control of him, when he felt the power transfer from his arms and legs into the curling current-hair of the river. I see him there, dancing with an armful of water that turns him round and round, over and over in moments of stupendous force, pedalling down the gold waters, his feet missing the pedals, reaching instead, the sucking undercurrent. I hear him. I hear the voice making the sounds of a deafman, the vibrations of a noise but the lack of tone; the flat, meaningless yell, dead before it arrives. Do tears come? Or do tears — though they carried him unscathed through every other dilemna — become trivia in the face of such terror, such awe, such hopelessness? I know what his sad eyes are like. They stare, unbelieving, at this goldness that taking him, they look for Thomas and the others, they dart frenetically for more light but lose it when it comes down to smash his face in a crecendo of power and fear. He grasps again before he is on another drilling, gyrating journey downward but he gasps only gold suffocation, its taste putrid and stale in his mouth which tries to cough out another yell.

1 think, too, of his family when the news breaks like a tide on the household. The sister’s tears, their disbelief. Numbness and phone calls. Sedation and aching.

1 think of his body, the half of him that shows there was a Kenny. The rest is where? — down the river: his flat yell, the frantic motion of his limbs, the tears, God damn it all. the life.

2345 Montee Saint Aubin Laval, Montreal, Canada

(514) 688-1152

N ew M itre , 1972 10

THE DROWNING (CONTINUED)

I think of funerals, of flowers, of good, black hungry earth and the smell of pinewood, the rasp of sliding slate. It is all unreal, unwanted, unfair.

Thinking of him, I walked today by the river till I stood across from and behind the Presbyterian Church. The bank was a tangle of green vines, of willows, of logs on summer sabbatical from the trip downstream. It was as hot as yesterday. The birds were there as I know they were yesterday. There were reeds at my shoreline, beckoning green fingers that were as healthy yesterday as they remain today, I wanted, craved, cried out for yesterday and could have had it.

Then I heard the cry of a young boy, a cry held captive by a silent surface of water. I heard it being released in a sparkling instant, rush upward, its river- blown flatness enlivened by a real voice that breathed air. I heard Kenny call:“Zero”.

l l

Compliments of

THE GEORGIAN HOTELunder the new management of

DOC BEAULIEU

Dining room open 12 p.m. and 5:30 p.m.

Three-course special of the day: $1.24

156 Queen Street - Lennoxville - 569-0162

12 N ew M itre , 1972

Michael Cahill

CLA R K 'S Pharm acy Reg'd

PRESCRIPTION SPECIALISTS

D. M. Patrick, L.Ph.

I l l Queen Street Lennoxville, Que.

569-3601-2-3

G. L BEAULIEUInc.

SU PREM E SUPER M A R K ET

Meats and Vegetables Cold Beer — Free Delivery

Lennoxville, Que. Tel.: 569-5971

N ew M itre , 1972 14

Peter BondTHE FUNNIEST THING I KNOWHa! Ha! Ha! Ho— Ho—Ho!What a laugh; a riot, a show!Dismal, dreary,Sloppy, smearinglovely little lackeys of it all!Creepy, crawling Kissing mauling,Shirkey smirkey skirting, flirting farts.

Alone, O.K.; Together — No!Pushey, crowdly,Crowding in a crowd

MUST WE BE SO LOUD?

Such nausea!To watch us sit ‘en masse’ and eat, is a laugh — sure!But such nausea

“Dirty little kid! Get out of those clothes and into the tub (you grub),” said the motherly mother,As she lit another cigarette.“I’ll make you a clean kid inside and out.” She said between spluttery coughs from her chokened throat.

“The whisperers” laugh at the poor, old lady, “Dumb bird.”Of course they do! after all,She is mentally disturbed,Is she not?She does not cheat through this ‘hard’ life So she must have something loose upstairs.

Dear Son of God,What is this world that thou hast saved?What paradox is it that causes man to race at 25, 952 miles per hour towards another world,When we run at twice that speed in the opposite direction from understanding —

15

INC.The Mat BoxSPECIALTY SPORTSWEAR

105 Wellington N.

USE OUR CHARGEX PLANSherbrooke, Quebec

Tel. 569-7515

USE OUR CHARGEX PLAN

i n c *

Tel. 569-3225 123 Wellington, N.

Sherbrooke, Quebec

16 N ew M itre , 1972

HAILSTORM IN THE CHERRY TREE Gloom.Darkness.

Breathing — then Thrashing, wild, athletic Adolescent sex —Cooling sweat.

Gloom.Darkness.

Do you love me? — It's nice out.

GREEN* HILLS FARMS • REGISTERED HEREFORD CATTLE

BUTCHERS - PACKERS

BOUCHERIE - SALAISON

Phone 819-562-1531

• DOUBLE SMOKED HAMS

Compliments of

C A N A D A C A T ER IN G CO M PAN Y L IM IT ED

THE STUDENTS' UNION

SNACK BAR

N ew M itre , 1972

SONORA DESERT DREAM

SleptOr almost slept

Last night in a dry oroyo Five hundred feet or so Back from the road.BlackPrimordial peace-silenceExcept for my crackling campfire.Laying back watchingThe billion white-lightStars.Half dozing-dreamingOf Mexican plumed serpentFormsQuetzalquotlSerpent-manBringer of peace in the night Beautiful peace forms

in the night.

Mousy mustached Federale As big as his gun (eyes me)

As I shift in my seat nervously

Mistaken for a Gringo bum In San Juan De Dios

Market Place

Fat womenScream their wares

As dirty urchins pick pockets Everywhere

The stink of tamales And tacos fills the air

In San Juan de Dios Market Place

Indian mothersSuckle brown babies

In the shadows of stalls While one old hag

Sells peyote buttonsOn the Cathedral steps

And the pulque Tastes strong.

In San Juan de Dios Market Place.

Ruth Gordon

Compliments of

Bishop's University

B O O K S T O R E

SetlakweA K W EThe Fashion Centre

Tel.: 562-4767

200 Wellington North Sherbrooke, Que.

Children and ladies' wear

N ew M itre , 1972

Lennoxville Building Supplies Ltd.

LENNOXVILLE, QUE.

Howard Leslie, President Phone 567-4874

Compliments of

C. A. Connors Real EstateREAL ESTATE BROKER AND APPRAISER

562-4000

138 Wellington Street North Sherbrooke, Quebec

22 N ew M itre , 1972

SONG What I Am

Ain’t it great just hangin’ around Let your spirits soar, get your feet off the ground Take in the sunshine and the joys of our land While you canDo it while you can, enjoy life while you can.

Smile at everyone you see and it’shue That people gonna wonder what you’ve been up to People only smile when they’ve got a good cause What a lossWhat a loss, what a loss.

Stand on your head, jump for the stars Shout so loud they’re gonna hear you on Mars People may wonder but I don’t give a damn I am what I amI am what I am, and I like what I am.

Ain’t it great just hangin’ around Let your spirits soar, get your feet off the ground Take in the sunshine and the joys of our land While you can

Do it while you can, enjoy life while you can Enjoy life while you can.

Compliments of

VaillancourtJEW ELLER — W A T C H M A K ER

146 Wellington North, Sherbrooke, Que. Tel.: 569-9661

H. and H. Aube, proprietors Tel.: 562-2289

Centre d'Ajustement Plaza Enrg.Children’s and Teenagers’ Footwear Specialists

Orthopedic Prescriptions

2124 Galt Street West Sherbrooke

24 N ew M itre , 1972

Laurie GruerWORDS FOR BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE

A. FOR DIANALike your great aunt. The Flagmaker,You are working in fabric,Weaving your taut, tense beauty With cords of a foundry-blast beat And threads of your silken stuff.You are dyeing rhythmic blue What you have made on the

wailing flailing sailing

Loom of yourself, made from gold trumpets red sequins white teeth and blackness.

You are making stripes of music And a star of yourself.

B. FOR SCOTT AND ZELDA I saw you. You were my Hearts and Fire people; you were two hearts Forged by the fire of your passion Into one.But, Scott, busy at your image-making,You forgot that fire consumes, that a Heart aflame with mutual passion that Drove you (like a chauffeur) around the World, out of your mind (forgive me, Z.),Must be burned up, someday.Now, Scott, do you see why you should die Of a heart that stopped,Why Zelda should end as an ember?

C. FOR MARILYNIrving Layton loved you, he told me that. He said that he fell in love with you, Like a whole generation of men.

He said I couldn't understand Why, that I was born too late To have loved you, that I couldn’t See why he and his brothers, even Men of iron, fell for you, a lady Of plastic and wax.

The paper said they buried you In your pale green chiffon dress, pearls At your ears, a simple line of pearls About your neck.I think I could learn to understand.

25

Leather Industry Pioneers

BAGGAGE

HANDBAGS

LEATHER GOODS

GIFTS

1918 • 1968

142 Wellington North/Nord, Sherbrooke, Que.

M ILLE (1000) KING EAST INC.1000 King Street East — Sherbrooke, Quebec

Authorized Sales Representatives

Andre Talbot Sales Manager

Garage: 567-4851 567-3101

26 N ew M itre , 1972 27

Robert Dunkley

N ew M itre , 1972

Neil Broadhurst

“Up the Establishment” the sign read on the pop art poster. Golly-gee! it’s all changing, in and out up and downlike the occupants of a bed in a grotesque Swedish movie.

Compliments of

h . j . M cC o n n e l l

OPTOMETRIST AND OPTICIAN

206 Wellington St. North — Sherbrooke, Que.

« »

Phone: 563-4911 for appointment

THE W O O L SHOP

159 Queen Street

Lennoxville

* «

Specialties: Peter Scott Sweaters for men and women.

Knitting Yarns.

30 N ew M itre ,

Sheila AscroftRESURRECTION

The music was gutteral. Forcing movement from within the body to flow, in wild expressive gestures of the hips and head. Virginia could feel the music straining and pulling her insides. But only her fingers tapping on the cool glass revealed any external motion. She wanted to get up and swing her body to extremes with the sweating mass of International-part-time Cretins on the dancing desk. But she sat, tapping her glass with chipped finger nails, watching. Watching strobe lights and vague movements.

Watching James dance. Stretch. A lean frame. A tight-muscled body moving with the rhythm that possessed him. His body was beyond his drugged mind now. And both parts of him beyond Virginia. She was still within herself.

Virginia sat within reality, toying with drunkenness. Self-awareness had plugged the freedom exit of instinctive action. The energy that knotted her guts would not explode in expressive motion. Her thick arms and thunder thighs were incapable of anything except heavy conscious movements. She would not let the energy be released onto a moment — of air and time and awkward movement.

The ragged nails tapped once, then clung to the glass. Virginia drank deeply, feeling the cold beer soothing the heat within and without. But the liquid brought words, poetic words of a one-eyed man she had known and still loved. He did not know that she had not YET relinquished her hopes . . . beer hopes . . . beer words . . .

a bubble rosefrom out of a beer bottlelike a moon shroudedin clouds risesfrom the ocean’s depths.

but she broke it signing her fate relinquishing hopes adhering to blind destiny.

like a mist-hidden moonshe rose out of her beer bottlecloudedand all hopes burst on the horizon.

RNB

She thought of crying. But the music stopped. The people it had hung up in the air with movement now collapsed, like string-broken puppets. Obliterated mounds. Physical exhaustion. Wet people prostrate, breathing heavy.

The exorcism was over. The music had died and only ashes of sound remained in the convoluted mass scattered on the floor. The light had been betrayed by the simple flick switch, its electrical colored potency lay stifled in black rubberized wires. Instant mental incubation . . . sleep.

But out of the black mass danced James, his energy still activating his appendages; his head nodding with insane delight; his face creased with rubbery expressions of smiles and grimaces.

With a silence enfolding their black presence; James took Virginia gently from the dim white-lit bar and her beer words, and persuaded their bodies through a silent waltz with the remnants of his energy. Together they slowed movement to a swaying and then to stillness. The only motion between them was the alternation of heartbeats. They stood, being, together.

Silence is only an interval in life; music but a numbing of the senses; and words the only reality. Words exploded. Emotions which flailed at the skin found a means of release.

“J a m e s .. . JAMES? Virginia screamed shaking his body.He laughed an ugly grotesque laugh that left spittle at the corners of his

mouth. She stared at him, screaming silently. Her screams contained the energy of the music but the music was gone-dead in the air. Loud empty shrieks of pained emotional energy filled a soundless air.

“James”, she panted, “let’s play a game. You remember it — the Plastic Suicide one”. And she turned to the bat and took the red water pistol, and within a moment of dramatic frenzy blew her brains out.

With a waterpistol.The shot shattered the heartbeat, and words replaced the vacuum within

the mindless James.“How does it feel? How does it feel?” he repeated,“My temples are wet.” She stated with a simplicity previously unknown to her.“My temples are wet with the blood of my soul.

My soul is dripping down . . . down my face.It’s soft and w arm . . . James? was my life like that?Oh. no. Don’t wipe it off, James, that’s the last of me.”

“No.” Said James soberly,” No, it is the beginning again. Your life shall be like Buddha’s only with spring willows wrapped about your fingers . . . ”

The sun rose with another morning, its sacrifice having been made before the dawn. It’s light sparkled on the wet skin of two children playing in the sea. Their laughter was floating to the rhythm of the ocean’s eternal motion.

Peter Lidington

33

LENNOXVILLE

92 Queen Street, Lennoxville, Quebec

ESSO SERVICE

Phone: 562-4575

Compliments of

W alter M . Lowney Company LimitedSherbrooke, Quebec

N ew M itre , 197234 35

Neil BroadhurstTRADITIONAL CHRISTIANITY, PART I (PRESENT)

bone and blood broken and spilled so you, man, could have bread and winein dark services dedicated to light.

but beyond Golgothathe Jordan River flows cancerous brownfrom miracles’ shoreto a saline death.you, man, escaped Golgotha

but your falsehood touched my hand by the altar.rumours told me of your youthful eyes.but when I beheld them,they had lost their innocent fireto burning sanctuariesbeneath a desert moon.

broken body cracked by a scythe, the holy stalks, blessed, haunt us in every house.

from purple vineyards the blood flows in communal streams to waiting lips and humbled hearts,

man, your eyeballs lie upon the altar.

Marilyn FindlayI never really liked The situation As the rain ran down My feelings Stood in puddles Round my soul So I asked the man At Macy’sFor directions to the graveyard And he told me You’re the signpost Told me you’re the goal

Year-round IN N on L A K E M A S S A W IP P I for fine

d ining — piano bar and dancing

For descriptive brochure or reservations.

Coll 819 - 838 - 4900

Lessard Bus Lines

Inc.

LENNOXVILLE

“to charter a bus call us”

563-6575

N ew M itre , 197236

John Scott

GOLGOTHA You, man; not —Or both,You were caught in your crow's nest As you knew you’d be Surrounded by thieves,Soldiers, priests and the blind Sailing through a sinful storm That rent decks and portals Exposing corruption; decay As a week-old corpse Rotting in the grave.And through it all occurred But three deaths —Two forgotten through their own doubt — One not through his confidence.It was your death, man; not —Or both.Confidence: for you knew you’d return And you told us so —With that same confidence That carried our sins To your grave.All we can do is hope,If we’ve the faith,That you were right In your confidence You, man; not —Or both,Caught in your crow’s nest.

37

Sherbrooke, Que.

Compliments of the

Town of LennoxvilleWishing great success to all the students of Bishop's University and Champlain College

N ew M itre , 1972 38

CHAINS I You are so free No strings No slipknots round The mainstays Of your soul

You say“I came from”

And“I used to live”

That grey mirage Is all that’s left Of home

There are people behind There was a man Who said

“I love you”But you can’t quite Recall his name

So baby Freedom Now!Is your existence Why is it that You scream And beg for chains?

PAGE-SANGSTER INC

PRINTERS • PAPER BOXES • OFFICE SUPPLIES

406 Minto St. Sherbrooke, Que.

Tel. 819 - 562-3861

leo laliberte & fils Iteet a i l l e u r s - t a i l o r s

88 W ELL IN G TO N N. — TEL. 569-1033 — SHERBRO O KE, QUE.

N ew M itre , 1972 40

POLITENESSIMPERIALISTWHYMUST YOU MAIM & TORTURE?To Save YouMUST YOU EXPLOIT?To Help You Progress MUST YOU FUCK?To Prevent Your Rape.

Next Prisoner, Please

f *

Picture by Robert Dunkley

Poem by Ron Levesque

M cDonald, Currie & Co.

Coopers 6l Lybrand

Chartered Accountants

108 Wellington St. N. Sherbrooke, 569-6301

Offices throughout Canada

La Paysanne Motel

“A dependable motel for your stay”

P.O. Box 801 Lennoxville, Que

Tel. 569-5585

42

Peter Lidington

“SO”Some select superciliousness; Superannuate superfluous senescence: Suggest sudorific sickness.

Sullen, sully, suicidal stupidity.

Peter Bond

43

Compliments ofCompliments of

Trans-Ocean Travel Inc.YVON SIROIS

DISPENSING OPTICIAN

9 Depot Street Sherbrooke, Quebec 562-7095

563-45159-A Wellington Street North Sherbrooke, Que.

Compliments of

UNION SCREEN PLATE CO. LTD.A Division of CAE Industries Ltd

Head Office

72 Queen St., Lennoxville, Que. Telephone : 562-4754 — Area Code 819

N ew M itre , 197244

John Scott

ON GREAT MEN A simple blue petal Slipped from its stem And floated to the floor Then pardoned itself For not being great. Beside it I rested And felt unashamed —I too was not great For I had no stains On my tie.The petal and I know All great men Are slobs.

BOTTLED COURAGE Magnificent Montmorenci Cascading diamonds And casting off pearls Like snow-dust Billowing into a thousand Rainbows — all frowning — Until I stood on my head To see the arches smiling.And a tourist chastised me For loving nature in That strange manner So l offered him a drink, too.

D. A. HANSON, Chairman G. P. MUSSULMAN, President

J, F. FROST, Secretary-Treasurer S. A. COBBETT, Vice-President

ALL CLASSES OF INSURANCE

842-7911

For particulars communicate with

LEWIS, APEDAILE AND HANSON, INCMontreal 445 St. John Street

BALDWIN &INSURANCE

Continental Building

Sherbrooke, Quebec

FULLERBROKERS

IN C

Tel.: 569-9775

N ew M itre , 197244

Compliments of

STANSTEAD & SHERBROOKE G R O U PTHE STANSTEAD & SHERBROOKE INSURANCE COMPANY UNITED SECURITY INSURANCE COMPANY STERLING INSURANCE COMPANY OF CANADA

48 N ew M itre , 1972

Lynn ScottPOEM NO. 1.

When I must think of the end,I always imagine nature

Undyingand eternally fascinating.Never growing old

and ugly as we do.

And if I find pleasure in the thought that spring’s blossom of daffodils

green and gold in the playful sunlight And the lush serenity

of a summer’s green hillside,Dotted with daises

dancingto the rhythm of the wind . . ,And the glistening crackle

of ice-clad rivers deceiving, mysterious,

not letting on that deep waters lurk

below the cardboard whiteness. And the night’s comforting shadows Where only you know you’re there

Will live on When I die.

For death itself is nature's final touch.

Christianne FokkenEven you, ocean,who seems so endless to us,even you are trapped between your shoresand your abandoned desireto embrace the wholebecomes a parody in your vain efforts— flow and ebb:Trying to gain one, you lose the other.You meet usin your rythm of the changing tides.

Compliments of

Sherbrooke Laundry and

Dry Cleaners Inc.

353 Frontenac Street Sherbrooke, Quebec

562-2633

Compliments of

Mathias Typewriter Exchange

41 Wellington Street North Sherbrooke, Que.

562-0440

50 N ew M itre ,

Ken SchachnerA BUS RIDE

The roar of the powerful diesel engine was as consistant as the white cotton fields that lay vast on both sides of the endless highway. The bus I was on was cruising at about 70 on a road travelled by many for many years. Seams, folds, cracks, bumps, and oil stains covered the pavement. As the white dashes on the road quietly sped under the bus I saw images of elderly immigrant women, their faces witness of the obvious toils of their lives, painfully carved into their wrinkled and roughly textured skin. I looked up again and now I could see rays of yellow light spread across the slowly approaching distance. The person sitting next to me tossed sideways and placed his head against the window. I could see the vibration of the bus shaking this seemingly tired body. Another toss; then another. Suddenly the eyes struggled to open and the reddened slits fought the harsh awakening light. Soon the transition from uneasy sleep to consciousness occurred. The black face turned to me and just managed a light smile.

Within one hour after a twenty minute breakfast stop at the Junction Diner, I was still on the bus now gazing at the passengers around me. I then continued conversation with the fellow beside me whom I formally met over the toast and coffee. From that moment on, my mood had changed. Joey had just returned from Vietnam after being there almost two years. He was twenty years old and a resident of Florida. He had lost his left foot in combat about sixty days prior to our meeting and was now on route home.

Joey told me he could not sleep comfortably and I assured him that all the passengers were experiencing the same difficulty. Apparently, I was wrong. The diesel’s steady rumble nor the vibrations kept Joey from sleeping. Night­mares of nights in trenches crawling with ugly multi-legged insects, perspiration saturated clothes, one’s own feces under the spongy boots; the hot, sticky, breezeless nights, noiseless, but sure rounds of potential bullets for those who dared oppose the senseless steel. This is why Joey could not sleep.

Joey was a black American. He was one of approximately twenty two million blacks in the United States. What he faced in the States because he was black he faced to a greater extreme in Vietnam. Joey spent six months in a jail for refusing to kill civilians upon order. Perhaps just by coincidence, all except for four of those jailed were black. Later Joey was informed that if he maintained his stand of not following orders he would spend still more time behind bars. However some friends he had made insisted he take “combat pills” and in no time Joey became a real soldier. Joey killed. He killed so often and so many he knows not even an estimate of how many hundreds he gunned down. Joey, the boy who was constantly reminded that to kill was wrong and the ultimate in sin. For eighteen years Joey never offended anybody physically. Now Joey, an adolescent, turned violent man in seven months. Joey was afraid. He had a taste of murder, a complete view of destruction, terror, and torture. He had witnessed countless executions and bypassed mutilated bodies, bloodied and ripped, decaying and decomposing in the brown wormy mud.

A BUS RIDE (CONTINUED)

He was now aware of how easy it was to overcome another being — and kill. This knowledge terrified him. Joey was totally familiar with the drugs being used by the soldiers and that many killings amongst American troops were the result of drugs and hatred for a superior, subordinate or because of racial differences. I was told of houses of prostitution operated by the United States and “staffed” with Vietnamese women. Partially white Vietnamese children roamed the streets of the cities, hundreds starving and wounded, and with no destination.

Soon Joey would be home. His best friends will be there but not to greet him. They too have returned from Vietnam. Joey just stared through the panoramic window. This troubled man viewed the cotton, the frequent white pillared houses, the entire countryside. Without turning to me Joey muttered, “This beautiful country is so fuckin'crazy”’

And here was I travelling to a resort on the open Atlantic. A student on vacation from the hustle and bustle of Montreal and from a fast growing and demanding university. I was tired and in need of a good rest. I looked up to Joey and said to myself how trivial it is for me to complain about Montreal and school and my “sufferings” of tension and distress, that widespread social syndrome.

N ew M itre , 1972

Jack Scott

Leah BradshawREALISM VERSUS REALITY

I am told: life is born of misery and birth is born of suffering and suffering is born of man and I am man and must therefore bear my misery with suffering

Why is it, then, that flowersgrow in vegetable gardens?

253

AAnne M cK eow n Robert Dunkley

Compliments of :

STANSTEAD COLLEGERESIDENTIAL SCHOOL

FOR BOYS

Stanstead Quebec

54

THE SPLENDOR OF THE SUNI remember, once When I was very young,There existed in the sky A large burning sphere,The Sun.

But man grew cold and hatefulAnd the heat from the SunWas no longerAble to warm his heartOr melt his bitterness.

So, the Sun Sadly and silently Slipped into the ocean,Believing that she had failed.

In the oceanThe Sun’s fires did not dissolve,But continued to burnEndlessly.Bringing a new joy into the lives Of the creatures of the sea.

These creatures grew With great beauty Of body and mind

And lived harmoniously In their sun filled gardensIn the sea.

They knew not of war or hate But drank deeply of peace and love And shared, unselfishly,The splendor of the sun.

Marvelling at the beauty Which she had created,The Sun glowed with renewed

radianceKnowing that She* had not failedBut that man Had failed himself.

Renald Charland, President

107 Frontenac Sherbrooke, Que.Tel.: 562-4811

CAMERAS AND PHOTOGRAPHIC EQUIPMENT

Wage your own personal war against

POLLUTION The BEN -A -KE Way

Write:

BEN-A-KE INDUSTRIES INC.P.O. Box 1102 Lennoxville, Que.

John Challies(1) for Barra you are as free as the blown seed far beyond your reach, boundas the sown earth resting in your palms.

(2) to the beasts of toil of Montreal to all those cold and lonely horses wretched beneath their lousy blankets my heart goes out in all those old and tired horses fettered and fated to toil I feel a broken spirit I sense in their aimless pawing passions that man effaced to avoid his own freedom.

(3) to a very lonely girl the cast has come passing out her candy coins a costume face betraying the currency of mute exchanges wrought from a heart’s sorrow.

Bob Woolgarbabies aren’t without knowledge when they’re born /are just perfect people who know everything get such a rush out of

being bornthat they go simply insane and don’t recover until late childhood./who start learninghow to think learn everythingto perfection can learn to die,again:

56 N ew M itre , 197257

KAUFMAN, YAROSKY

AND FISHBARRISTERS AND SOLICITORS

1255 Phillips Square Montreal 111, Quebec

Campbell, Sharp

Nash & FieldCHARTERED ACCOUNTANTS

845-7211

745 Victoria Square Montreal 126, P.Q.

N ew M itre . 197258 59

Sue StapellsI strolled along the snow-covered road

Tears heavy in my eyes Stinging cold to match my cold heart Encircled my body in the form of a hostile blast.

Children laughedI stopped to watch their innocence They asked me to join them For a moment I relived those carefree days

of happiness.

Again I strolled along the road My heart still heavy But no longer filled With the emptiness of before.

For in their innocence I had found A love for life;Too easy to forget Hard to regain

But, never lost, forever.Gil Ross

Bown Lumber Inc.

BUILDING MATERIALS and

CUSTOM MILL WORK

28 Conley Street Lennoxville

W. S. D resser & Com pany

INSURANCE — SINCE 1875

121 Frontenac Street Sherbrooke

Phone 569-9508

N ew M itre , 1972 60

Celaire

LIBRARY WINTERWhen the snow first fell on this green bound earthIt was the shroud that covered the corpseAll that was left of a wind shattered worldWas buried in a widow’s white veilAnd the skeleton trees with their bony tips clackingWere stiffened and lost to the frostNature dissolved to a white crystal desertThe universe shivered and waited.

Gil Ross

61

569-4242 16 King Stroot East, Sherbrooke, Quebec

BourgetStereo Cabinet Inc.

SOUND SPECIALISTS

Design and installation of hi-fi and stereo systems Residential — Commercial — Industrial

Sales and Service on all stereo apparatus

ROGER BOURGET Residence: 562-6669

Southwood, Campbell & Howard Ltd.GENERAL INSURANCE

Sherbrooke 569-3654 Quebec

62 N ew M itre , 1972

Leah BradshawFROM CHILDHOOD

Autumn shows its mellowing agents fast upon the ground that once was lush with green. Winds begin, with passion to excite the air that once was sweet with passive breeze. The birds once happy to retain their chains fight the bonds that keep them wild and free

Alone, they are victims of their kind.They fly to lands desired, but long denied.

And in the midst of childhood’s happy games die top is bitten from the candycane.

H. M UNKITTRICKSPORTING GOODS

Fairview DairyQUALITY DAIRY PRODUCTS

Sales ' Service • Repair

Skis — Equipment

Motorcycles — Skates — Bicycles

etc.

Lennoxville, Sherbrooke and

Surrounding Area

1020 Wellington S. Sherbrooke, P.Q.

Tel. 56941529 :: Tel. 562-7266 ::

64 N ew M itre , 1972

Karen Seay

65

Compliments of

A

FRIEND

James GrayFOUR HORATIAN ODES

1 1The Innocent

You avoid me, Chloe Just like a young deer Lost on the pathless hills Without its faint-hearted mama,Scared silly by the rustling of trees,

And shaking all over If the briar stirs in the breeze Or the leaves do a tremulous dance When green lizards slither past the bramble.

I have no intention Of pouncing on you Like a roaring tiger Or a Gaetulian lion.

Pull yourself together, Chloe,And for goodness’ sakeStop running after motherNow that you’re ripe for a man.

Compliments of

Ellwood &ARCH ITECTS

a a

II

The Flirt

What skinny-shinned hipster Drenched in after-shave lotion

Presses his pants on your thighs, Pyrrha,In the shady corner

Where the roses bloom?

Who has the sensual privilege now Of sifting the precious gold-dust of your hair

Through his exploring fingers?

Little does he know What a fickle-minded bitch you are Or how many times you have changed

Your place of worship,And altered your vows to the virile idols.

(I, xxiii).

ObviouslyHe has not dipped his prow in the whirlpool yet Or rammed his keel against the treacherous rocks.

But I could tell him How I learned my lesson

From the shipwreck of my hopes And left a message on the temple walls,

Beside my dripping garments:

“Thank HeavenI

Was the one Who got away!"

(I, v).

4101 Sherbrooke Street West — Montreal

116 Albert Street — Ottawa

Wait till the tempest rises And the roaring seas engulf him And his pasty-faced incompetence.

Poor, unsuspecting bastard.He thinks you are made of solid gold;He believes you are free to love like thisAll the day-dream days of your fierce, fly-bursting life.

66 N ew M itre , 1972 67

New

Mitre. 1972

III

The Vampire

Lydia!In the name of all the gods above

Tell me, please.Why are you hell-bent on unmanning

SybarisWith your love, love, loving?

He used to enjoy facing up to the dust and the heat On the sun-drenched plain;Why can’t he stand it now?

He has stopped going to stag parties with his soldier pals;Why?

He used to ride the devil out of that French marc of his;No more.

Why is he scared to wet his toes in the golden Tiber?Why does he avoid the grease of the wrestling-ring

As if it were viper’s blood?

Why has he stopped showing off his bruised and calloused arms, This man

Who so often in the past would hurl, and throw the discus,And the javelin,

Shattering every record?

Why does he skulk behind the scenes.As they say the son of sea-born Thetis did,Just on the eve of the tragic fall of Troy,

As if manly attire and manly bearing Might make him prey to the Lycian hordes

And rush him To his death?

IV

The D iscarded M istress

Less often they come, with their blood at the boil,To rap late at night on your front window pane;

Those roistering rakes turning sleep into toil,Through quivering loins their passion to drain.

No wonder your door, once so glad to swing out,Sticks fast to the jamb by a threshold quite still,

Or so seldom your senses are stirred by the shout,“Wake up, dearest Lydia! Say that you will!”

Continue this way, and you’ll end on the streets Like a pitiful strumpet, abandoned in scorn.

Your triumphs succeeded by sullen defeatsOn cold moonless nights wind-battered and torn.

Yet your blood will course fiercely around your sad heart;As you think of those lovers you’ll murmur and groan —

A benighted, frustrated, demented old tart,Swept on by the storm, like a leaf, all alone.

(I, xxv).

(I, viii).

Compliments ofCompliments of

Peat, Marwick, Mitchell & Co.

CHARTERED ACCOUNTANTS COLONEL JOHN J. DUNN

1155 Dorchester Blvd. West Montreal 102, P.Q.

70 N ew M itre , 1972 71

when you have crept to all the darkest corners of your tears

i am waiting,and when you have choked on the last raising of desire

i am waitingand when you have seen full-face the incredible chasm

i am waitingand the strength of the earth is mine and the salty vulnerability of my eyes will heal your wounds, and the shaking bridge of my open arms will plunge you to the sea where

i am waiting.

Compliments ofCompliments of

VOYAGES ESCAPADE TRAVEL O'Boyle & Duplessis (1971) Inc.

SALES AND SERVICE ON TVs HI FT — STEREOS

119 Frontenac Street Sherbrooke, Quebec

543-5344 1430 King Street West Sherbrooke, Quebec

562-2437

N ew M itre , 1972

A GRANDMOTHEROnce

full, fresh, softwith fire in her body —

Nowpetite, wilted, unhappy with a light burning for desire to burst into youth

— touching youth— and so farso old-almost finished with eyes that cry for yesterday

73

Compliments of

A IM E COTE

READY-M IX LTEE

569-9916

334 Queen Street Lennoxville, Quebec

Compliments of

ALLATT'S BAKERY LTD.

563-0330

878 Queen Blvd. North Sherbrooke, Que.

74 N ew M itre , 1972

A marvellous building of ingenuity it focus our attention it forces acknowledgement, A complete construction in itselfbut only in itself and for itself for there is no place for its foundation One of thousands Towers of Babel —

They gave me treasures of silver, gold and sparkling diamonds — But when I reached out my hand they decayed to ashes.

They gave me splenderous castles in beautiful parks —But when I put my foot therethey turnedinto ruins and deserts.

They gave me hopefully budding blooming roses and orchids —But when I wanted to drink their odourthey becamewithered and mouldered.

Bob Woolgar

St. Francis Radio Taxi

5 6 2 -5 4 1 4

Compliments of

Hovey ManorNORTH HATLEY, P.Q.

24-hour service

Local and Long Distance Lennoxville, Que.842-2421

77

Open your eyes just in time to see a woman cryingjust about to jump just in time to see her jump intoyour life.

Look again it’s gone and so are you waitingfor just a little more timeto look again for her and see yourself falling. . .

76 N ew M itre , 1972

Compliments of the

~

ChairmanN E IL BROADHURST

Vice-Chairman SUE STAPELLS

Financial Manager PAU L TROLLOPE

Receptions JEN N Y BELL

M A R IL Y N F IN D LA Y

Publicity L IZ CURRY

A N N E KEM P

Exhibit Coordinator JANE FU LLER

N ew M itre , 1972

CelaireTREES

Tight tall or rippling in bowsPulled from the earth or piped on by the windMuscles or sinews of soilHolding cliff from the river and earth from the wind Jeweled with rain drops or iced with the snow Changing in colours with the natural seasons Or bearing the burden of heat and then freezing Stooped and straight, small or great Seed into sapling, acorn to oak White skinned and peeling Or armoured in barkThe fruit of the womb, the wind’s only groom A proverb of God.

78

Printers of

THE CALENDAR

THE NEW MITRE

ALUMNI MAGAZINE

CARNIVAL PROGRAM

FESTIVAL '72 PROGRAM

P R I N T E R S - P U B L I S H E R S

L I T H O G H R A P H E R S

M P R I M E U R S - E D I T E U R S

L I T H O G R A P H E S

PROGRESSIVE publications1 ( 1 9 7 0 ) I N C .

PROGRESSIVES

725 CPR Terrace Sherbrooke, P.Q.

5 6 9 - 3 6 3 6_____________80 N ew M itre , 1972

To Dr. James Gray,

The New Mitre Staff extends its appreciation for the

strong support which he gave us throughout the year's

work.

Traveller in the wilds, do not

Drink his soiled, muddy water,

But go on over the hill where

The cows are grazing, and by the

Shepherd’s pine you will find a

Murmuring spring, flowing from the

Rock, cold as snow on the North Wind.

— Leonidas

(Translated by Kenneth Rexroth)